


The Light in the Dark

by Applea



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Culture building, Even when they have nice-people tendencies, M/M, Murder, Orcs are not nice people, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applea/pseuds/Applea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azog likes consensual sex. Other orcs don't understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light in the Dark

Azog curled his lips back in a feral sneer as he beheld the pounding of the war drums and the manic dancing of his followers before a roaring bonfire rife with leering skulls. Manflesh roasted and bones cracked as orc and warg tussled on the ground for the marrow.

It had been a successful raid worthy of celebrating. In the dark of the night his forces had looted and pillaged a one of the many sheepherding towns that dotted the outskirts of the Misty Mountains. Their forces and sentries had been alert, and the man's call to arms had been loud and immediate, but fire-blackened orcish steel had overwhelmed them in the night. These towns fared well against the small raiding parties of the goblins, but no force could stand against the might of Azog the Defiler.

In a good mood, Azog felt the last vestiges of battle-lust thrumming through him. He made eye contact with one of his new lieutenants and considered if he should risk it. Bah, he was Azog and this was his victory. All he surveyed was his for the taking! He tilted his head toward his ramshackle tent, and his lieutenant followed.

Muzgêsh was a fine orc, shorter than Azog, grey of skin, half his face set a little higher than the others, one ear in tatters, the other gone, his limbs strong if scarred and bowed. He would do. 

Azog threw open the flaps to his tent and settled himself against the bed furs that he as leader was allowed. There were a few tanned leather throws as well, and they did not appear to be of beastly origin. An orc's bed is never pleasant speculation. Muzgêsh took his time getting around the bonfire Azog thought sourly. But he stroked the furs and concentrated on the pleasant swooping in his belly. He supposed the night would hold one more fight for him, as orcs determined who would be on top by viciously fighting until surrender, and even then they did not stop the scratching. Azog had little to fear from Muzgêsh's nails, for they were weak and brittle, broken, ground short, and ringed with filth. It was part of the reason Azog had chosen him. It was his deepest secret, but he was not quite like other Orcs. He did not enjoy brutally beating his bed partner into submission- that's not to say he didn't on occasion, but he much preferred his bedmates willing.

Ah! To have them come to him, to beg him to touch them, to see them submitting to him because they _longed_ to with every fiber of their being. To bring them to the peak over and over until they sweetly begged him to give release, to have them join him in his movements and seek to drive _him_ wild and to release because they wanted to please him, not just to end their torment. To Azog, that was the greatest pleasure. A willing bedmate gave so much more power than any of his subordinates could handle or even understand, the blind slavering monsters in the dark.

The tent flap opened, and Muzgêsh cautiously prowled in. He did not expect to win the fight, but to wound and battle and feel the blood pounding through veins and down arms, ah, that was mating-battle. He saw Azog, and pounced, talons (such as they were) out and teeth barred. He gave a wild snarl and began to claw as Azog lifted him easily with one great arm.

Azog bored quickly, seeing Muzgêsh hiss and scratch at his arm- truly, a pitiable sight for a lieutenant, those scratches that were barely and sluggishly bleeding. Was this what his grand horde had come to? Azog wondered mournfully to himself, growing dangerously maudlin. He flipped the snarling Muzgêsh so he was facing outwards and in a fit of sentiment tucked him close to his great chest. He sighed wistfully as he tucked his head atop the startled Muzgêsh, who's struggles had grown weaker in his confusion.

The great Orc, holding the now quieted Muzgêsh in his arms, gained courage from his victory still thrumming in his brain, encouragement from his lieutenants stillness, and the words from the not-inconsiderable amount of ale the orcs had stolen from the town, and spoke in a low voice. His lips moving against the tattered remains of his lieutenants ear, he murmured as gently and wistfully as the Black Speech allows.

"Shh, shhh, Muzgêsh, Muzgêsh. Still."

He gently ran a hand along his lieutenant's heaving sides, and slowly worked it under the leathers he wore to touch the scarred ribs and draw his hand down to the quivering belly and back up again.

"Do not fight me. Let me, let me. Shh Muzgêsh."

Muzgêsh gave a growl that began as a question and ended as a whine as Azog found a nipple and ran his broad fingers around it. Slowly, so very slowly, Azog used his hook to draw laces from their holes and slip coverings down. How fortunate he was that Muzgêsh had removed his rusting armor; he supposed that what had taken him so long. No matter. He was here in his broad arms and he was no longer hissing and spitting. But he was wriggling most enticingly, and that suited Azog perfectly. He lent his head down to Muzgêsh's neck and inhaled deeply. Sweat, blood, ale, ash, all good scents. He gave a lick and began to mouth and kiss the crux of Muzgêsh's neck and shoulder.

Slowly Muzgêsh's panic began to rise. Where were the teeth? Where was the biting, the harshness of being claimed? What was he supposed to submit to? Where was the battle, where was the pride? Did his leader not consider him worthy of putting up enough of a fight? How could he call himself an orc if he submitted to this...to this _elfishness_? His hardness began to wither, the battle-chants in his blood being replaced with _WrongWrongWrongWrong **Wrong**_. He began to wriggle more in his panic, pinned by that wandering hand.

His wriggling pleased Azog as Muzgêsh began to buck against his hardness. His kisses became more frantic and he had to get his bed-mate naked _now. _His hook swiftly drew down Muzgêsh's lower wrappings and Azog's hand plunged to between his legs. He stilled as he felt no hardness. Quite the opposite in fact…what he had hoped to find was completely soft. He blinked and queried low and deep. "You…do not enjoy this?"__

__Muzgêsh twisted and snarled. "Of _course_ not! How can I? This wrongness, this foulness, this, this is not what an orc does! You are an _elf._ The son of an elf. You, you are the _daughter_ of an elf!" He stood up, leaving Azog bewildered and splayed out below him, his mouth open and sharp teeth gleaming dully._ _

__"You are wrong, and a freak. You are a weakling not fit to call yourself a commander. You call yourself the Defiler, and now I see why. You have defiled everything you have ever touched, including yourself. Including bed-battle. Now I know why there are whispers that call you insane. I thought it was because of your berserker prowess, not this freakishness! How wrong I was, your horde was, your touch is. This softness is-"_ _

__Azog launched himself up with a roar. Muzgêsh never got to finish his tirade as he leapt back and began to battle Azog in earnest now. His prick began to rise- _here_ was the bed-sport he had been wanting! Surely Azog had simply been tormenting him before! What a devious cruel commander he followed! Truly, one worthy of leadership! What foul works he had forced himself to perform and almost got Muzgêsh to permit! Ah, but he had shown the commander, and now he was being taken as a bed-mate should! What a night they shall have now! Such a battle- truly the sex shall be the best of Muzgêsh's life! He-_ _

__Muzgêsh was surprised when Azog ripped his head off of his shoulders._ _

__

__Covered in black spray, Azog threw open the tent flaps with a roar and tossed the head out into the bonfire. He turned and came back out again with the headless corpse held high above his head. Continuing his wordless roar, he hefted the bleeding body and threw it entirely across the camp where it his a tree with a sickening thump and fell to the ground. Azog turned and snarled back into his tent, shutting the flaps roughly._ _

__With awe, the orcs looked around to the tent. Clearly, concurred the whispers once they began, Muzgêsh was not fierce enough for the commander. Sagely heads nodded and everyone concurred that Muzgêsh really should never have been a lieutenant, and did you see his weak talons? The Great White Orc had virtually no scratches on him. Everyone looked critically at their own nails and shuddered, vowing that should the Great White Orc pick them next time they would fight harder than they've ever fought before._ _

__Azog curled up, alone and covered in black blood upon the bed furs. He sighed angrily and his one last hand- damn Oakenshield- went to his cock. He gave a few half-hearted strokes, wondering if he should just give it up, when his thoughts strayed to Oakenshield's company. He pondered, his hand slowing down, and then with a flash he remember the littlest member. Soft, pale skin, swinging his sword without the slightest understanding of how to use it, his wide eyed sickened look when he actually killed something with it. That fussy little necktie, those soft curls. He didn't seem like someone who would like to fight. Azog's hand spend up, as he thought about what the little akashuga would look like free of dirt and fear._ _

__He crooned to himself as he thought of creamy thighs split apart and gentle little gasps. He would have to go slow, he was such a little thing. And perhaps he'd go a bit slower than the akashuga would like and trembling, wide eyed and frantic, with those pretty pale cheeks splashed with red from the inside instead of out, he would moan and try to force himself down on Azog's big cock. But Azog would be gentle, and hold him off so he didn't hurt himself. Slowly, every so slowly, with the little one wiggling enticingly under him, begging "Oh please, oh please…". Practically mewling as Azog slotted himself in with plenty of oil to ease the way. Azog would kiss him then, his pretty panting prey, and the akashuga would throw his arms around Azog's neck and put his hands on his head just to urge him closer so he could have more. Kissing him back, his little red tongue flicking across pointed teeth, and Azog would take control of the kiss and delve into the gasping mouth so the akashuga didn't cut himself accidentally on his fangs in eagerness. He imagined his large hand curling around the hot hardness the smaller male possessed, his fingers dripping with oil and the akashuga bucked into his gentle fist. He would move, his every thrust dragging the smaller body back and forth over the softest furs, spurred on by moans around his tongue as the akashuga let out his delight. As their peaks got nearer, they would begin to frantically pepper each others mouth, face, neck, anything they could reach in loud openmouthed gasps, Azog just knew it. In the present, he wrapped his hand tighter around his prick and his arm began to flex in earnest. Close, they would be so close, Azog bent nearly double so that he could kiss and fuck at the same time, but the akashuga would just arch up trying to get closer, to touch all of him, because he _wanted_ this, _needed_ this, because he _loved_ hi-_ _

__Azog came with a howl. Exhaustedly he turned to his side and thought to himself that he truly was a freak._ _


End file.
